


too.

by jinjangled



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, literally only fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinjangled/pseuds/jinjangled
Summary: maybe midnight is too intimate, but there has never been a time where this has meant more.





	too.

It is Tuesday night, and Sanha is in love.

 

Sanha knows that Tuesday will soon become Wednesday, can feel the minutes slipping through his fingers to collect on the floor as hours, can feel his eyes start to burn and his eyelids struggle to open back up from a blink. It is Tuesday night, and tomorrow he has things to do, but this moment is much too precious to let pass without noticing it.

Minhyuk is asleep on his chest, face tilted toward Sanha, lips caught in a pout. He’d fallen asleep with the promise of staying awake upon those lips, a tired rumble and a heavy sigh to follow. Sanha had smiled, because he’d known that Minhyuk’s eyes would soon close, and his breathing would deepen. He can’t bring himself to be disappointed, not when Minhyuk’s fingers are curling around the fistful of Sanha’s jumper he clutches, still needing to be closer even in his sleep. Sanha can’t frown, not when there’s a piece of popcorn in Minhyuk’s hair, not when the blue light of the television dances upon his cheekbones, not when his breath catches a strand of hair and tosses it in front of his eyes. Minhyuk is a beautiful, beautiful man, but there is a candid handsomeness about him when he sleeps.

Sanha remembers their first date like it was yesterday. He remembers the way that Minhyuk’s hand had shaken around the coffee cup he held, how he’d noticed it and tried to act like he wasn’t nervous, and Sanha had played along for Minhyuk’s sake. He remembers the way that Minhyuk had gazed across the table at him, eyes full of pure happiness and breathless adoration, reflecting the flame of the tea lights that sat upon that table. Sanha had reached forward after a little while, moving much too fast for a first date, to capture Minhyuk’s hand in his own, to settle the shaking. Sanha would never admit that he was more nervous than he may have let on, especially when the butterflies had been stirred by the pretty blush that had made itself a home on Minhyuk’s cheeks. He wants to relive that day, just one more time; wants to relive the moment where the cold air had kissed his cheeks, and after his shiver had been spotted by Minhyuk, had been enveloped in arms he would later feel lost without.

Sanha wonders, now, how on Earth he’d managed to end up here. Perhaps their paths had crossed, paths littered with stars and dreams, desires and ambitions, yet so alike to cross and to then mingle. There was something about this, something about  _ them _ , that feels final, decided, permanent. Sanha runs a hand up and down the span of Minhyuk’s back and feels him curl closer, and his nose digs into Sanha’s chest, and it might have hurt him, because his face contorts as he sleeps. Sanha has to keep his laughter quiet, has to keep his heartbeat quiet, has to stop from lifting Minhyuk up, up, up, to lay a gentle kiss upon his lips. 

 

The clock tells him it is midnight. It is Wednesday morning, and he fights sleep because Minhyuk has woken up now. He stirs, stirring Sanha’s heart as he goes, eliciting a feeling of hopeless affection. The hands that had rested on Sanha, one on his shoulder to clasp at his jumper and the other against his side, now smooth over Sanha’s chest in tandem. Bleary eyes open slowly, falling upon Sanha’s face, trailing over his every feature. Sanha watches in awe, awe because one person has never been more beautiful, as Minhyuk lets a smile grace his lips. 

Sanha loves,  _ loves _ Minhyuk’s smile. Loves it because it belongs to MInhyuk, but loves it because there isn’t one part of Minhyuk that his smile doesn’t reach. The gentle curl of his lips can turn into that bright, stunning grin that seems to glow. When Minhyuk smiles, his eyes smile too; be that in mischief or happiness, either emotion reaches those deep and gorgeous eyes all the same. Sanha has long since learnt how to read Minhyuk like a book, has learnt the different shifts in his expressions, has learnt when to say things to help calm the flailing panic that seeps into his pout.

Sometimes he doesn’t need to say anything. He just kisses him, gentle and telling, and Minhyuk caves.

Minhyuk is climbing up his chest now, hands on either side of Sanha, before he falls back down to rest along the span of Sanha’s body. The amount of contact might have bothered Sanha, if it was anyone else upon his chest, but Sanha has learnt to crave, has learnt to need this contact. He winds his arms around the gentle beauty above him, holds him close, breaths in his scent. Minhyuk laughs, quiet and sleepy, surrounds Sanha’s head with soft and sure hands, cupping his cheeks and running lines down his jaw with his thumbs. Minhyuk’s laughter turns into huffs, little giggles, and it feels so, so private.

Sanha smiles back, can’t do much else than return a breathless grin, lose himself in Minhyuk’s depths. The air calms down, and the only sound is the television that Sanha had turned down to let Minhyuk sleep better, mixed with their breathing. It’s a little too close, the tips of their noses brushing, the space between them limited and full of unspoken words, unspoken confessions.

They had said it before,  _ ‘I love you’ _ , but never like this. It had been through fleeting words -  _ ‘Bye! I love you!’ - _ thrown over a shoulder as one left to go to work, had been through a simple text  -  _ ‘I love you and I hope you are doing well!’  _ \- during a lunch break.  _ I love you _ had never been difficult to say, because the finality, the feeling of this being  _ right _ and  _ forever _ had erased every single hint of doubt. Sanha, to speak for himself, had never doubted Minhyuk, had never doubted placing so much trust and transparency in him.

_ I love you _ is easier to say under the light of the sun, when even the smallest noises aren’t blaring, when every moment is shared with hundreds of others. Midnight, a Wednesday morning, feels different. Sanha chokes on his confession, feels it bubble in his throat, because whatever he says now will fall upon Minhyuk’s ears and never anyone else’s. This moment feels intense, feels isolated, private and far away from everything else. He drowns in the expectant look in Minhyuk’s eyes, struggles to stay afloat in his own feelings. He doesn’t feel pressured, he doesn’t think, but to tell Minhyuk that he loves him  _ now _ feels very, very real. It feels real enough to choke on, real enough to stumble over. 

“Minhyuk,” Sanha breathes. The boy above him smiles down, calm and serene and  _ bright _ , the darkness of the room never threatening to swallow him up.

“Sanha,” Minhyuk teases back, dropping his face down to press a kiss to Sanha’s temple, running a thumb over his lips at the same time. Minhyuk thrums with an energy that Sanha had never before seen in a person, an energy so steady and yet so reserved. Sanha had watched how that energy had shone through in every action of Minhyuk’s, never faltering and never fading, and he’d soon realised that Minhyuk loved him with that full energy, too. Steady, but not so reserved, this time.

Sanha wonders when the lump in his throat will subside. He doesn’t trust his voice, doesn’t trust its strength and volume, but he trusts  _ Minhyuk _ . Trusts him enough to let himself be vulnerable, easily read,  _ loved _ . And so he speaks up with his wavering and flimsy voice, because he wants to love him back, in the quiet and intense moments like this one. 

“I love you.” Sanha murmurs, his lips very, very close to Minhyuk’s. He wonders if he should move forward just a little.

Minhyuk drops his head down, nestles into Sanha’s neck, nose finding a place to rest beneath his ear. Sanha holds him tight, lets those waves of love pass over him, rubs circles into a back that now shakes and seems to heave. Minhyuk cries, lets wet breaths filter through the trembling lips he tries to press to Sanha’s skin. Minhyuk cries, sleepy and perhaps a little small, one hand wrapping around Sanha’s bicep and the other sits upon his waist.

Sanha waits. Will always wait. He waits for a number of minutes, waits until sobs fade into sniffles, waits until Minhyuk lifts his head and, tears and all, wets Sanha’s lips with his own. Sanha can’t cry, can’t cry through the feelings of wonder he harbours for Minhyuk. He can’t cry, because the lump in his throat turned out to be a confession now lost to the stars above them, and the stars in Minhyuk’s eyes, and the stars in Sanha’s head.

 

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever get sick of socky? or socky being lovey? no  
> this is a tiny, tiny little thing that i thought of and needed to weep about. i'm working on day zero, but i needed to write just a little socky short to keep myself fed lmao
> 
> thank u for reading this, it means a lot


End file.
